Cotton Candy Skies
by pressbtoblow
Summary: Drarry Non-magic au After realizing that he's not attracted to girls, Harry leaves his small town and travels to the city to find himself. Along the way, he meets Draco, who he's taken a keen interest in. [Rated T until I decide to put smut in it] -Based off of Alex Myung's Arrival-
1. Chapter 1

Hi, and welcome to my first Drarry fanfic! I have to warn you, though, there will be some:

-swearing/cussing

-lgbtq+ themes (of course, why must I state this?)

-family death

-maybe smut, if I gain an affinity for it ;)

DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ

 _ **I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. All rights go to J. K. Rowling.**_

* * *

 **Chapter One:Just a Beginner**

"Dab the brush, Harry. Clouds shouldn't look so harsh," his mother spoke softly from behind him.

The high grass tickled his semi-bare legs, the light breeze going by and messing with his messy, dark hair. The boy pushed his glasses up on his face with the back of his hand before he heeded his mother's warning, dabbing the brush lightly against the canvas. His green eyes squinted in concentration, flickering up to the sky and back to his painting, tongue sticking out slightly as he struggled to get each detail just right.

His mother, Lily, must've noticed, because she said, "You don't have to get every detail just right, Harry. You're just a beginner."

Still, little Harry wanted everything to be perfect, despite being only seven. He wanted to be just like his parents when he grew up, like every child.

The breeze turned into a quick, harsh burst of wind, causing Harry's brush to slide across the canvas, accidentally elongating the cloud. An arm reached out to hold the easel in place so it wouldn't blow and topple over the two of them.

A sad whine came from Harry when he saw his masterpiece was ruined. He looked back at his redheaded mother with watery eyes, dropping his paintbrush in sadness.

"Hey, it's okay, baby," she comforted, wrapping her arms around him, giving a squeeze. "All artists start out rough at first. Don't feel sad."

Still, Harry didn't feel better at his obvious botch.

"Hey, I have a surprise for you," his mother said with a smile. "Come pack up your things, okay?"

Curious, Harry helped close the bottles of paint as his mom gathered the easel, canvas, and paint brushes. The last thing Harry plucked off the ground was his palette, and he was off, walking behind his mother, wondering what the surprise was. Another easel? More tools? Food? Maybe they were going out for ice cream.

They climbed a hill, and a picnic was set up, complete with a plaid red and white blanket and a woven basket. Harry's face lit up as he hurried forward and sat his supplies down on the grass beside the setup. He plopped down, his mother soon joining him shortly after setting the things she carried down. They talked over a lunch of sandwiches, pudding, apple juice, and pastries Harry enjoyed greatly. Harry spoke about school, his two friends, Ron and Hermione, coloring and drawing at home, and their pet bird, Hedwig.

It was when it fell quiet when Harry asked something that made the redhead tense up.

"Did Dad like painting too?"

He looked up at her with green eyes that replicated her own almost exactly. Besides them, he looked just like his father, her late husband. She forced herself to relax and cupped Harry's chin.

"He wasn't much of a painter himself, no," she finally responded. "But he did enjoy my paintings, all of my art. And I'm sure he would have absolutely loved yours as well."

Lily had always dreaded telling Harry that his father was dead, and would always dance around the topic, not wanting to outright lie. But, she wasn't sure for better or for worse, he came home one day from school, he had said,  
style="font-family: 'Georgia-BoldItalic'; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-size: 16.00pt""Dad is dead, isn't he?" Lily had froze in washing her dishes, and turned towards her son, who stood in front of her sister, Petunia Evans. She wore the same worried, confused expression as Lily, as if she didn't know where Harry got this information.

 _ **"Honey, what makes you think that?" She asked, frying her hands on a hand towel and motioning for the raven-haired boy to come to her.**_

 _ **"Some kids at school were talking about it," Harry said, pushing his glasses on his face. "One boy said that his mother was on a business trip, but his uncle told him that she was dead, that's why she never came home."**_

 _ **The two sisters exchanged glances. At only age five, he was too young to know about death. Lily seriously thought about switching schools as she bent down to his height.**_

 _ **"Harry, honey...there's something we need to talk about..."**_

Ever since then, Lily tried all she could to prevent anymore dampening of Harry's mood. It was way too sad to explain death to a child and she didn't want anymore instances like that. Still, Harry would ask questions about his father occasionally, a solemn expression taking place on his face.

 _ **"How did he die?"**_

 _ **"A car crash."**_

 _ **"What was his name?"**_

 _ **"Your middle name. James."**_

 _ **"What did he look like?"**_

 _ **"Just like you."**_

Lily focused back on her son's face, smiling softly. "He would be so proud of you, Harry. No matter what you do, he would be proud."

She meant every single word, too.

—

Those words hung around Harry as he grew up into a more mature person. As a teenager, he didn't think he had much for his father to be proud of, as he wasn't making the smartest decisions. He still painted, for he couldn't go a day without adding even a touch to an existing work. But in addition to that, he began dating. It wasn't any committing dating, either. For some reason, he couldn't find a spark with any girl he's dated, kissed, or fucked. It was driving him mad, making it feel like something was wrong with him. Maybe something was wrong with him.

He couldn't tell his mother, though. She talked to him about how she couldn't wait for him to find a nice girl to settle down with one day, and give her a grandchild or two. How would she feel if she knew that her son was having no connection with any of the girls he saw?

So, he went to his godfather about the situation, as he was the second person he trusted the most, after his mother.

"Still sporting your father's look, I see," Sirius pointed out with a smile as he walked through the door. "What brings you here, Harry?"

There was a moment of hesitation as Harry sat in a couch, sinking in almost immediately. He took in the second coat hanging in the coat hanger at the doorway, recognizing it almost immediately, as it wasn't Sirius'. Somehow, he always managed to visit Sirius while Remus was there, someone he considered an uncle.

"I just had a few questions," Harry said.

Sirius sat beside him, seeming to be perfectly fine with anything his godson was wondering about. Harry knew the man wouldn't judge about anything, nor did he discriminate against anybody, despite coming from a very conservative family. Sirius was the "bad apple" that did more good than harm. Harry remembers being told that the Potters and Blacks were loosely related, meaning technically Sirius and him were blood-related, though it didn't matter. Blood-related or not, Harry still trusted him with anything.

The man leaned back in the couch comfortably. "Be my guest."

"Do I hear...oh, it is Harry!"

A man taller than both Harry and Sirius stood at the entrance of the kitchen, holding a platter with a kettle, a sugar bowl, milk, and two tea cups. He smiled at the teenager as he sat the platter down, then gave him a hug. For some unknown reason, Harry preferred the hugs he got from his godfather and uncle than from the girls he dated. Maybe it was because he was more familiar with them, but he liked how they weren't entirely soft. Sirius was more muscular, while Remus was a tad bit too bony, but Harry knew that the shorter man scolded the taller whenever he didn't eat, which made Harry unconsciously smile.

"I'll get another cup," Remus smiled, going back into the kitchen.

"Is it alright if he stays?" Sirius asked in a low voice.

Harry nodded almost immediately. He knew whatever he said to Sirius would somehow make its way back to Remus as well. Might as well save the extra talking on Sirius' part.

"Are you sure? Because I can send him off to get some butter or something—"

"Really," Harry interrupted with a laugh, "it's fine. I-I want his opinion as well. On the matter."

Sirius' gaze lasted longer than normal before they went to the brunette, who carried an extra tea cup and sat it down on the table. He watched Remus pour the hot tea into the cups for a moment, as if mesmerized with how graceful he was, which always made Harry wonder. How was Remus so graceful? It was easy for Harry himself to knock over something incidentally. And when he didn't, his limbs shook in concentration.

"What's the matter?" Sirius finally asked, focusing his gaze on his godson.

Suddenly, Harry was speechless. He knew he had a problem, but he didn't know how to word it or go about it. Remus wasn't the type to judge either, but he wondered how he could say what was on his mind without it being confusing to both of them. He began to stutter softly, face heating up before he took the cup that was handed to him, made exactly how he liked, with some milk and three sugars. After a regenerating sip of tea, he had enough confidence to blurt out his thoughts.

"Why am I not attracted to girls?"

The two men stopped what they were doing—Sirius was sipping his own tea, while Remus poured milk in his own—and exchanged glances. No, more like a full-on conversation with just their eyes. Harry still never could translate what they were discussing, and he felt like he never will.

Finally, Sirius turned back with him, an unconvincing smile hidden by his mustache and beard. "Ah...girls, puberty, dating. You've hit that age."

That didn't answer his question, but Harry nodded anyways.

Remus rubbed the back of his neck, setting the milk down. "Uh, how long have you been..."

He trailed off, apparently unable to say what was on his mind. Thankfully, Sirius was there to finish it.

"How long have you been involved with girls?"

Harry thought back to the first girl he's ever taken an interest in, which was a girl named Parvati. She was very pretty, and had liked Harry for a while, but he just didn't feel a connection.

"Maybe a year or so," Harry shrugged.

"Already? My boy's becoming a ladies man!"

Remus gave Sirius an apprehending look, which caused the grin to drop into a more serious (ha) expression, which almost made Harry laugh. The oldest male cleared his throat before turning back to the youngest.

"That's not what I meant," Sirius said. "It's just...how many have you dated? One? Two? Because one or two girlfriends aren't enough to tell if you—"

"Twelve."

Sirius raised his eyebrows while Remus choked on his drink. The shorter gave him a few pats on the back before chuckling and focusing back on his godson.

"Now, that's not a lot."

"'Not a lot'?" Remus sputtered across from them.

"Yeah, that's like one a month. That's my little heartbreaker—"

"Sirius!"

"What?" Sirius chuckled. "He's only taking after the greatest heartbreaker there ever was! Tell me, did they beg for you to take them back? Were they on their knees?"

"Sirius, that's enough."

Remus has stood and took the spot to Harry's left, making him sandwiched between the two men, which he didn't mind, as the couch was big enough for even an extra person. He shot Sirius a glare before continuing to speak.

"Do not listen to your godfather, as he doesn't know the difference between right and wrong. Look, I know you're experimenting and all, but don't do it on unsuspecting girls. You'll only hurt them."

"I've apologized," Harry said, hoping that would help justify that he didn't mean to use girls like test subjects.

"That's good, but you can't do it anymore. At least ask them for consent so they'll expect for the relationship to not last. Now, you think you're not attracted to girls?"

Harry shook his head. He explained the lack of connection, the lack of interest, lack of spark he felt with every girl he's been with. How whenever he kissed them, it was mediocre, nothing spectacular. Whenever he saw them, he never had butterflies like he was supposed to. How he couldn't imagine a future with none of them, and he never had the balls to let them meet his mother because he knew they weren't going to last more than a month.

"That's easy," Sirius blurted when Harry was done. "Harry, you're g—"

"Sirius," Remus firmly said. Then, "Harry, you're still young. You're only fifteen! You have your whole life to find yourself, figure out who you are. Have you...have you felt any feeling for anybody else?"

Harry shook his head. Although, with some famous male athletes, he couldn't help but feel some sort of warmth in his groin after seeing them shirtless, dripping with sweat. But he didn't dare tell this to either man, as he wouldn't be able to deal with the embarrassment.

"He might be asexual, Remus," Sirius said. "Or aromantic—"

"Sirius, would you shut up?"

"Asexual?" Harry questioned, curiosity washing over his features. He's never heard of the word before, so he wasn't sure what it meant. Same with 'aromantic'.

"Don't mind him, Harry. Anyways, as I was saying, don't dwell on this. You'll figure out your preferences when you're older, more mature. You're just a teenager at the moment, and I know the idea of dating sounds fun, but it's not that big of a deal. Trust me. It took me all of my high school years to figure out what I wanted."

Harry didn't miss the glance towards Sirius Remus established, the sparkle in his eye, the warmth, the...admiration. That was when Harry knew something was up with the two men. They didn't act like any other guys, flexing and showing off their masculinity. They were almost...feminine. In a way. Maybe they've been around his mother too much.

Sirius had smiled a bit, drinking some of his tea to occupy himself. Although, Harry could have sworn he saw his cheeks tint a rosy pink color.

"But—"

"Don't let your mother's wishes of having a grandchild be the reason you're in a relationship," Remus said. "You have feelings too. Having a child is just the cherry on top."

Harry nodded. He really did want to have a child in the future, but how if he couldn't find one girl he was attracted to? Last time he checked, he needed a girl to have children with. He can't just spontaneously pull a baby out of thin air.

Sirius spoke up again, but Remus couldn't interrupt him this time. "Harry, you're probably gay."

A silence fell between the three of them. Remus was glaring at Sirius, Sirius was watching Harry intently, and Harry stared into his cup of tea. He wanted to react, but he had no idea how to. What the heck was 'gay'?

"Harry," Remus began, sighing. "Harry, don't listen to Sirius. Just because you aren't attracted to girls right now does not mean—"

"What's gay?"

Remus' mouth opened and closed a few times, unable to spit something out. Luckily—or maybe unluckily—Sirius piped up again.

"You are. You're gay, Harry."

That still explained nothing. Did 'gay' mean undesirable or something?

"I...I don't know what that means," Harry sheepishly admitted, looking up at his godfather.

"Holy fuck, Lily," Sirius groaned.

"Language," Remus warned, still obviously furious. For what reason, Harry didn't know.

"She's protects you from too much. It means you like guys, Harry."

It didn't get through Harry's thick skull, as he still haven't a clue what that's supposed to mean. He liked Ron as a friend. Was that it?

"You like dudes, guys, the same sex, fucking cocks! You don't like ladies!"

The simple explanation sunk in, and Harry's mouth fell open in confusion. Harry wasn't gay. He wasn't gay at all. He couldn't be. Right?

"He doesn't understand, Sirius." Remus rubbed his face with a hand, groaning.

"Kiss a guy, you might like it," Sirius smiled.

"Shut up, Sirius."

"Trust me, it's a lot better than you think!"

"For fuck's sake, Sirius."

Harry didn't know whether to be shocked at Remus cussing or the fact that Sirius admitted that he's kissed guys. Did that mean Sirius was gay? Harry wanted to ask him, but how could he without being upfront about it? It seemed rude to ask, as it was a personal question. He decided against it.

"I..."

What could Harry say? He was confused. He didn't like guys. He liked girls, and how...how...

He couldn't think of a reason why he liked girls. None of them gained him any amount of pleasure, frankly. They were all the same, too soft, too needy, too clingy. There was something about them that annoyed him a bit. How they flipped their hair and batted their eyelashes, as if that was supposed to get them anything they wanted. Harry didn't like that one bit.

"Don't you think he should know, Remus?" Sirius asked.

Remus gave another sigh. "Sirius, you've already cause enough trouble."

"Trouble? I'm just trying to save him time! Best he know what he likes now so he can focus on what he truly wants!"

"Why are you his godfather?"

"Because I'm obviously so great at it!"

"You're awful, Sirius. Just...plain...awful."

Harry left Sirius' house more confused about himself than ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:Wait, Potter?**

Harry decided not to tell his best friends about the conclusion Sirius had came to about his situation. He himself still didn't get the whole thing. Because he was not gay. _Was he?_

And what did Sirius mean about kissing guys? He made it sound like he's done it before. Has Sirius done it before? And if so, with who? Did Harry's dad know about Sirius kissing guys? And what about Remus, before that day of course? Did his mother know? The questions were making him feel overwhelmed, especially since he had nobody to bounce ideas and theories off of. They bounced around in his own head, colliding with each other, coming up with ridiculous possibilities.

After days—close to weeks—of mulling over it, he decided he had to tell somebody. His mother? Not now. His best friends? No, he was still trying to figure out if he was actually gay. But who else to go to other than the one who concluded he was gay?

Unfortunately, school work got in the way, as well as him being nervous. What would he say to them? ' _Hey, Sirius, I was wondering if you actually kissed a guy before? Oh, and who it was, and who else knows. Thanks!'_  
That sounded like complete rubbish. No, he decided to save himself the embarrassment and focus on schoolwork as much as possible, but he was talking to Hermione on the phone, which wasn't really helping him focus. Though, he hadn't told her that he  
was doing schoolwork, otherwise she would have hung up right then and there after telling him off for not having done it sooner.

"Harry, you sound different," she observed. Of course, she was possibly the most intelligent person he knew. "Is everything okay?"

He saw no point in lying but tried so anyways. "Mhm. Everything's fine, Hermione."

He failed.

"Harry, something's wrong," her voice was laced with concern. "If you need anything...you know I'm here for you."

He was about to dismiss the conversation when he stopped. Hermione was basically opening the door for him to tell her everything. She was intelligent, she wouldn't tell anybody without his permission, not even Ron. She could help him figure out something. He stopped writing a math problem down, lying the pencil beside his text book.

"Well, you know how I wasn't interested in all those girls?" He hesitantly asked.

"Yeah?"

"Well, funny story. So, I went to my godfather's house..."

He told her everything that happened, from the moment he stepped inside until he left, making sure to not miss a single detail, as it was all important. He knew that if she was there right then, her mouth would have hung open. It was pretty weird and confusing, especially for oblivious Harry.

"Harry...you really think you're gay?" Hermione asked, incredulous.

A blush crept up Harry's neck. He wasn't totally sure, as he could only go by Sirius' guess and his experience with girls.

"I'm not one hundred percent sure, but it's is a possibility."

"Well, I support you fully. It would explain a lot, how you have more guy friends and feel more comfortable with them, how you're afraid to touch a girl—even if it's just me!"

Hermione gave a laugh, leaving Harry to chuckle as well. "So, do you...you know, like anyone?"

Harry quickly shook his head, then replied in the phone, momentarily forgetting that Hermione wasn't in the room with him. "No, not yet. I guess I haven't really met anyone."

"It is a small town. You'll have to get out of it to really meet anybody."

Maybe that's it. Maybe Harry really has to get out of town in order to meet a girl that he has a connection with. A grin broke out on his face.

"Hermione, you're a genius!"

He could practically hear the grin in her voice. "When am I not?"

"When high school is over, I'll move into the city. Not only will I meet someone I'll love, but I can also improve my art career! How come I haven't thought of this before?"

"Because you're so dense," came Hermione's diss.

"Quiet, you!"

Hermione laughed on the end of the line. There was a moment of silence before she spoke up again. "You know, you're dense about something else as well."

"Hm?" Harry had picked up his pencil and resumed his homework during the silence. "What's that?"

"From what you've told me...Sirius is gay."

Harry's pencil froze. "What?"

"Yeah," she released a shaky breath. "That and he's, possibly, with Remus."

Harry day there, turning the theory over in his mind. He's never thought of that, although all the signs are there. Remus is always there when Harry comes around, him and Sirius always share glances with each other, and they're both almost inseparable. Harry's only thought they were close friends, and admired the friendship they had. Oh, how wrong was he.

"Are you sure?" He choked out, unable to believe that he's missed out on something so big for so long. Overlooked the whole thing, never was given a reason to question. Wow, he really was dense.

"I'm quite positive. But I may be wrong," she added hurriedly. "If you want to know, you'll have to ask them yourself."

In fact, he did. When they went over to his house to visit Lily and him, he waited until his mother excused herself to go finish the cake before he asked in a hushed tone. Remus glared down at Sirius in response, while Sirius grinned mischievously. The two reactions were no definite responses, so he asked the two again. Remus was about to answer when Sirius pulled his face down to press their lips together. Harry's eyes widened and he felt awkward as the two passionately kissed, which he's never witnessed before between anybody. He wasn't sure how he should react, to be honest.

Finally, Remus pulled away to say, "Yes, we are." It was all Harry needed.

By the time he graduated, he had bought train tickets to the city to set up his apartment, his belongings already on their way over there. Now all that was left was to say 'goodbye'.

His mother was in tears the whole day, which broke his heart. He always hated seeing his mom cry, and it did no better that they weren't going to see each other in possibly long periods of time. But no matter what, she always said that it was best for him and that he shouldn't worry about her. But he always will worry. She was the only parent he had left.

Sirius and Remus were pretty much the same, Sirius squeezing Harry to death any chance he got, close to tears judging by his voice and misty eyes. Remus has to coax Sirius' arms from around the boy each time, telling him it was going to be okay.

"Chase your dreams, Harry," Sirius said, his voice wavering. "The sky's the limit. Remember about exploring all possibilities."

A smirk made its way on his face, and Remus slapped his shoulder, rolling his eyes. "Have fun, Harry. But not too much. Be a good boy for your mother."

"And me!" Sirius included.

"And this idiot."

"You love this idiot, don't deny it."

Remus smiled down at Sirius lovingly. Words weren't needed to show Harry how much the two loved each other.

Next was Ron, who wasn't going to the city. Instead, he wanted to help out on the Weasley farm with his other brothers and sister, who had the hugest crush on Harry—who still hasn't told Ron about his sexuality confusion. It wasn't nothing sappy, just a few 'take care of yourself' and 'call me's. Harry also said goodbye to the rest of his family, who would have him over at their house, and he's began referring them as his second family.

Hermione didn't need any goodbyes, as she was traveling to the city with Harry, and was staying in the same complex as him, making him feel more safe with someone familiar around. And after one last hug from Mrs. Weasley, they were off to the nearest train station.

The ride there was peaceful and quiet. Harry was sketching Hermione, who sat across from him, reading silently. It would seem stalkerish had he not have done this before many times, giving each sketch to her. She was very pretty, Harry admits, even though he wasn't attracted to her—they even tested it out, her kissing him, only for him to feel nothing but nervousness.

When they finally reached their stop, they gathered their things, talking about the university they're both attending. They were so engrossed in a conversation about the tour they received a summer earlier that Harry didn't watch where he was going, and walked right into someone.

"Ow, watch where you're fucking going!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm..."

Harry looked up, and immediately became entranced with grey pools. They shined ever so slightly in the sunset that colored the sky in pinks, purples, and oranges. His eyes jumped to platinum blonde hair combed neatly in contrast to Harry's bird nest on top of his head. A few strands were loose, waving ever so slightly in the light breeze that blew the green leaves on trees. His jawline was prominent and looked sharp enough to cut, but Harry wouldn't mind if it cut him. Then there were broad shoulders, and Harry almost found himself drooling at the sight of all the features put together on just one man.

The guy stood and dusted himself off before taking a proper look at Harry, eyes softening for a split second before returning back to the cold look.

"I suppose I should help you up."

He spoke as if he was an important person, as if he was one of those snobbish people on television. And, perhaps, he was. He dressed in a suit, as if he was going to a business meeting. _But the sun was going to set soon, so he couldn't be_  
, Harry thought.

A pale hand reached out towards him, and Harry stared at it a bit. It looked so soft, well-groomed, manicured. Guys got manicures?

"Are you not going to take it?" Came the voice again. Harry found himself becoming more and more attracted to it the more he heard it.

He noticed the hand beginning to retract, so he quickly stuck is own out, grasping the pale one—yes, it was as soft as he imagined—and assisted in being pulled up. The blonde had a pretty strong grip and impressive strength, as Harry found himself standing extremely close to his chest, able to take a whiff of him. He smelled like books, expensive cologne that wasn't harsh to the nose, and brandy.

"Draco. Draco Malfoy."

Draco. The name sounded lovely.

Draco began shaking Harry's hand, an expectant look on his face. Oh, right. His name.

"I'm, uh Harry. Uh, Harry Potter."

"Nice meeting you, 'uh Harry Potter'."

He has a sense of humor. Harry might as well melt into a puddle on the spot. He was like the perfect boyfriend.

"Wait, 'Potter'?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded dreamily.

"As in James Potter's son?"

The dreamy effect evaporated as soon as he heard his father's name. How did this beautiful specimen know about his dad? Maybe they were family friends, but Harry would've remembered a name like 'Malfoy' being said by his mother.

"Yeah," Harry hesitantly said. "Why? Did you know him?"

"Oh, not me personally. My father did business with him. A fine contractor he was. He designed the second mansion of mine that's being built as we speak."

"Mansion?" Harry questioned. This kid had a mansion? At, what, 18?

"Yes, my father says that we should get a second one built, in case something happens to the first. He wanted it to be a duplicate of the one we have now, but that's just silly. Your father, he can really design. It's actually quite beautiful."

"Can I see it?" Harry blurted. He wanted to see the blueprints or something, to see his father's own masterpiece.

"I don't have it shoved up my ass, Potter," Draco smirked. "But, since you're his son, I guess I can let you take a look when it's complete."

A small grin broke across Harry's face. He's no sure why the offer pleases him, other than it being his dad's work that he's seeing, and not just pictures of beautiful bird houses he's built when he was around Harry's age—which were really extravagant, not the typical birdhouse, as some had  
 _stairs_.

Draco gave a chuckle. "You're actually kind of cute," he muttered lowly, but Harry still heard him. He didn't say anything, since he wasn't supposed to hear, plus he was looking at Hermione, who was giving Draco a weird look.

"I...I should get going," Harry said, backing away from the taller man—it was another thing he liked, the height—and going to Hermione.

"Understandable. I guess I'll mail you whenever it's ready?"

"Why don't you just call—"

"Splendid! What's your number?"

Draco reached in his pocket and pulled out a pen and a folded piece of scrap paper. Harry recited the phone number to his phone at his apartment, watching the elegant script being written on the paper.

"Great. Call you in a few years."

With that, Draco walked off, leaving Harry with a warm feeling in his stomach.

"I want to be his friend," Harry said, staring after the guy.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh and shook her head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: A Guy Like Him**  
 **  
**

The trip from the train station to their apartment complex was fairly quick, after Harry's several failed attempts at getting a taxi. Harry gripped his sketchbook tightly, which he had completely forgotten about with his encounter with Malfoy, Hermione being the one to pick it up for him. She teased him relentlessly about being head-over-heels for the man, Harry blushing profusely and denying everything. He's only just met the man that day, he couldn't have had feelings for him so quick, could he? And besides, he's a dude, and Harry only likes girls. He has to.

"It looks very nice in here," Hermione said, walking into the apartment Harry was renting out. The pair would've gotten one to share, had it not been for the possibility that they might get into relationships, and their partners might get the wrong idea that the two friends were dating. Plus, according to Hermione, she would get tired of Harry's untidiness after only a week of living with each other. Harry hadn't mind about the situation at all. In fact, he was relieved he had more privacy, because even if he wasn't attracted to Hermione romantically, he would have felt awkward if he accidentally saw her in less than a shirt and shorts.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "very clean."

"I give it a week before it's a mess," Hermione grinned, going over to the open kitchen area.

"Ouch," He feigned hurt. "You have absolutely no faith in me, 'Mione!"

"It's true. But it would be worse if Ron lived with you."

That much was true. If it weren't for Mrs. Weasley going and cleaning, Ron's room would closely resemble a pigsty. It made no sense how a room could get that dirty in a span of two days. Only two!

"If you want, I'll be over in the morning to disinfect everything. No, I'll come over whether you want me to or not," Hermione thought out loud, opening cabinets. "You never know how filthy the previous occupants were."

"Hermione, it's fine," Harry assured with a chuckle, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Of course you'd think that! No, we have at least a week before term starts, which gives us plenty of time to set up our apartments and make them look presentable. Now, if you don't mind, a few pictures would look great on this wall, opposite of the window. Don't you think? One of the portraits you painted by the ocean. Or maybe a flower one. We'll see. And the bedroom, maybe we could make it dark, you know? So—"

"You sound like a wife, Hermione," Harry full-on laughed, amused at his friend's antics. They haven't been in the flat a good ten minutes before she started picturing how it was going to be set up. He actually didn't mind her decorating—as long as it wasn't too girly—as he had planned on leaving the walls bare and only furnish the place with essentials like a TV, a couch, a table, etc.

"It's only our first night," Harry continued. "Shouldn't you be tired from the train ride or something?"

Hermione shook her head, bushy hair hitting her face slightly. "The train ride here gave me enough energy to fix up at least half of my place when I go over."

 _How_? Harry was going to ask, but decided against it, knowing he'll be given a full, verbal essay. When you're friends with Hermione Granger, you learn what questions to ask and what not to ask.

"Lucky you," He said instead, running a hand through his naturally messy hair. "I'm beat, so I'll go on to bed."

"From the train ride or the encounter with Malfoy?" Hermione smirked.

He swears, if she brings up that guy's name one more time...

"Fatigue has nothing to do with Malfoy," Harry groaned.

"Harry, you and I both know that guy has affected you somehow. Do you like him?" She questioned.

Harry sighed and walked over to the big window that took up most of the wall. Outside, darkness was rapidly approaching, majority of the sky a deep blue chasing away the vibrant yellows, pinks, and purples. It wasn't dark enough in the room to require a light to be turned on, yet Hermione went to flip the switch anyways.

"I can't like someone I've just met," Harry finally answered, eyes not leaving the sky. "That stuff takes time, you and I both know that. Besides, there's no way a guy like him could like a guy like me. If he's even gay," he added.

Hermione dropped the topic with a huff, but Harry knew that it wasn't the last he was going to hear about it. He was glad for the drop, though, because Hermione bade him a goodnight before leaving to go to her apartment across the hall from his. He decided to look around once again, despite the place looking the same as when he toured it two months ago, with the exception of his belongings sitting in various rooms.

The front door was in the living room, and there was a little expanse of wall to the left before it turned into the kitchen, complete with a breakfast bar and island. Across from the door, sat the wall with the giant window—where Harry had drawn the blinds to prevent any helicopters flying by looking in—and going past the living room, there was a small hallway that featured the bathroom and a closet. Taking the right around the corner there was a small room, almost like a foyer, that led to Harry's bedroom. His bedroom only had one window, which meant less curtains for Hermione to pick out, and was fairly big. Probably since it was the only bedroom in the apartment, not that Harry cared. But he had more space for his things than he did at his mom's house, as they had their two bedrooms and another for guests.

Harry opened a box, which contained his soccer (or football) trophies. He had been very sporty as a child, engaging in the neighborhood teams and going against the Weasley brothers. He had also taken up tennis, track, and volleyball during the summers when Hermione, Ginny, and Luna needed a fourth person to play matches. He did those when he wasn't doing anything artsy, or when he lacked inspiration.

He only managed to set five trophies and plaques on the shelf before he found himself yawning without shame. Wow, he didn't think he was actually that tired. Nonetheless, he stripped down to his boxers before climbing into his bed after retrieving the sheets and blanket from a nearby box.

—

True to her word, Hermione had helped Harry settle in with the unpacking and the decorating, as she didn't see Harry fit to adequately dress his apartment up. Harry would have argued, but it was right, so he had to shut his mouth and work on the grocery list he was writing for when they went out again.

His apartment could use a little more of something, but as in basics-wise, it was pretty perfect. After the boxes were folded flat, Harry was drug out the flat to a nearby clothing store, saying "he'd never know if he met somebody", and was forced to look at clothes that weren't his typical jeans and t-shirt. He wasn't against clothes shopping, but, according to Hermione, he would be useless without her, which wasn't a total lie.

He was walking around in the section of the store with the suits, wrinkling his nose in distaste at how fancy and high-priced they were. His family weren't dirt poor, but they weren't filthy rich either. His mother said that his father did spectacular in designing buildings, which earned him a lot of money, as they leaned more towards aristocratic designs.

As he was looking at a tacky orange and green suit—seriously, when did orange go with anything besides sunsets and fruits?—he saw one that caught his eye. It was black, with a black tie and a burgundy button-down shirt. It was simple yet very expensive, judging by the triple digits that were so close to being four. And, for some reason, he could have sworn he's seen it somewhere before.

"That's such a nice suit, Harry!"

Hermione walked up behind him, a couple of dress shirts already folded over her arm for Harry to try on. With her free hand, she reached out and felt the blazer, an approving smile on her face.

"It's so soft. What brand is it?"

Harry grabbed the tag and looked at it, his face twisting in confusion. On the black background of the tag, in white letters said ' _Magic! by Malfoy_  
style="font-size: 16pt;"'. Malfoy. It couldn't be the same Malfoy he met a few days ago, could it? There could be plenty of other Malfoys in the UK, right?

"Malfoy?" His friend questioned. "You don't think it could be Draco, could it?"

Well, Draco did have a nice sense of style, and he had been wearing the same exact suit when they met. But it didn't mean anything. He was hardly an adult, after all! How could he already have a fashion line out when he's fresh out of the dreadful teenage years?

"Harry..." Hermione breathed, looking at something under the displayed suit. She bent down and picked it up, gaping at the front page of what appeared to be a fashion magazine.

Harry's face went blank, as he knew Hermione was going to start running through the pages, picking out her favorite things, and he was about to go before she stood right in front of him.

"Your future boyfriend is a model."

"What?"

Hermione showed him the cover of the magazine and he was shocked to see that Malfoy was up there, posing for the camera. His face occupied a charismatic grin as he showed off his white suit with a black button-down and tie. In the shot, Harry could see that his hair was pretty long for a guy, ending right below his shoulders, tied into a neat, slick ponytail. His grey eyes almost dared Harry to retort that Draco wasn't his "future boyfriend".

He doesn't. Instead, he just stares at the magazine a few seconds longer before forcing himself to look away. Still, the image was burned into his mind, determined to make a permanent mark there. He couldn't unsee the ice-colored eyes, nor the pale, but not sickly, skin, nor the small grin he sported. And he couldn't ignore the way his hand was halfway tucked in his pocket, the other around his tie, looking soft and almost feminine. Overall, he did look feminine, but there was a sense of masculinity about him. There was something otherworldly about him, as if he was a gift made just for humanity.

"I want to draw him," he said under his breath.

Apparently he wasn't quiet enough, because Hermione responded to him after a moment.

"Then ask him."

Harry looked at her and shook his head. "I can't ask him, Hermione! If he really is famous and all, he wouldn't want to deal with a commoner like me!"

It was true. Harry was a nobody, while Malfoy—Draco, whatever—was well-known. And rich. He probably had other things to do instead of sit down with a small-town boy while he was being drawn. Even though Harry was given his number, it was strictly so he could see the House his father had built. Not for anything silly and unprofessional as being drawn.

"Harry, he gave you his phone number."

"But it's not for small things like this! I can't just...he won't..."

He doesn't know why, but his face was heating up, along with his neck. Why was he embarrassed thinking about drawing the beautiful specimen? About calling him?

"I don't think he would brush you off," Hermione hesitantly said. "He seems really interested in you."

How? They've only interacted once, and it mainly consisted of Harry staring like he's never seen another human being before, and talk about his father and his currently building structure.

"I don't—"

"Fine! But when you see him later on, draw him, and fall in love, don't say I didn't tell you so!"

That wasn't the last time Harry's seen the blonde's face. It was as if he was popping up at every inconvenient opportunity for Harry, appearing as a model on magazines, on billboards, as cutouts in stores. It didn't help that  
style="font-style: italic; font-size: 16pt;"Magic!was popular, and Harry could spot out a suit from the line a mile away. It was weird because it looked like any normal suit, but there was something about it that looked different from any other brand. Maybe it was the sheer expensiveness and elegance, making anybody who wore it look as if they were born with a silver spoon in their mouths.

Harry never bought one. He didn't think he could ever top Malfoy and how he looked in his own suits.

Classes started, and Harry's mind was less on the platinum blonde and more on his schoolwork. And girls. Well, it tried to be. Hermione got off his back, more focused on her studies, giving him more breathing room, so he didn't have to hear about how he's going to "fall in love with Malfoy", and how he "should call him for casual talk".

Luckily—maybe?—Harry ran into a girl by the name of Cho Chang while he was walking towards class. She had been running around the corner when she literally ran into him, knocking his books out of his hand. She apologized profusely while helping him pick up his things. She promised him lunch a few days later to make up for the incident, which he accepted. Maybe she was the one who will spark some type of feelings from him. She was very pretty and nice, and she looked interested in him somewhat.

They ate lunch at a local café, sitting at one of the tables outside while enjoying a sandwich and water. The weather wasn't freezing cold, so they could sit out without worrying about frostbite.

And it was then that Harry realized he wasn't attracted to Cho either. He couldn't see himself dating her in the future without cringing either. He mentally sighed and wished the lunch date was over so he could rant to Hermione about the lack of emotions he felt.

While she was talking about going back to China for a holiday one year to visit her family, Harry's eyes wandered off absentmindedly. They went to the road where cars rode by and people walked, some smiling and giving him a polite nod that he returns. Then to the many flowers weaved through the iron bars that surrounded the outside area of the café. Harry recognized some, due to painting them often when he was a bit younger. He always had a habit of smelling any flower he comes into contact with, possibly more than the usual person, as he wanted his paintings to be so real that the person could practically smell them off the canvas.

A woman's laughter distracted him, and he looked around for the source when he realized Cho hadn't been the one to laugh. That's when he saw him, sitting at the table behind Cho, sitting in the seat facing him. A woman with a pixie cut sat with her back to Harry, index finger tracing the rim of a teacup, and the blonde was talking to her, an arrogant look on his beautifully sculpted face. Harry thought his heart stopped beating when grey eyes met his green ones, and a smirk was sent his way.

"—Harry, are you even listening?" Cho questioned before she turned around.

Harry felt his face start to heat up, embarrassed at having been caught staring at the blonde man. Would Cho think he was gay as well?

Suddenly, the Asian gasped, and she whirled back around to to Harry, a huge grin on her face. "Harry, it's him! It's Draco Malfoy!"

Well, of course Harry knew that. How could he forget the beautiful man's name? But he didn't see how special he was, other than his godly looks.

"Yeah, and?" Harry mentally applauded himself for maintaining a leveled voice.

Cho's eyes widened in disbelief, as if she could not believe that Harry said that. "Don't tell me you don't know the Malfoys!"

He knew _one_ Malfoy. "Er—"

"Harry, they're possibly one of the richest families in all of Europe! And their son, Draco? He has to be the hottest boy on earth! Look at him!"

Oh, right. He was famous. How could Harry forget that?

"It's a shame he's gay," Cho sighed sadly.

Harry choked on his water, trying to discreetly calm his coughing fit. When he was able to breathe normally, he shot a glance at Malfoy—who began twirling the end of his ponytail around a finger, smirk still on his face—then focused on Cho, who was finishing her food. "Gay?"

Cho nodded solemnly. "One of the country's biggest models is gay. You don't know how disappointed the girls were. Yet, some are delusional and think they'll turn him straight or something."

The new piece of information made Harry wonder if Malfoy has always been gay or if experience with girls made him that way. And if it was the latter, could he know how Harry felt as well? But that's impossible, because Harry was not gay. He just hasn't found the right girl yet.

After a few minutes, Cho said she had to meet up with her friend Marietta and left after saying she had fun. Harry most definitely hadn't had any fun. And it wasn't getting any better as he watched Malfoy get up from his seat and strolled over to where the green-eyed boy sat, bottom lip disappearing between his teeth.

Harry's heart. It was going out of control the closer the taller man got. Harry's ears. He felt the tips get hot, spreading to the rest of the body part, and to his face. Harry's palms. They were becoming more moist than normal, making it harder to grip his cup of water, and he wiped them on his trousers quickly. Harry's mouth. It was as if his saliva evaporated on the spot, leaving him dry-mouthed.

Nope, he wasn't gay alright.

"Potter," he spoke in his smooth, aristocratic voice. "What a pleasure it is seeing you here!"

Malfoy's voice gave the impression that he was being sarcastic, but his expression was genuine. He gracefully pulled the chair out and sat in it, leaning on the table.

"On a date?" Malfoy asked.

"Uh, you could say...no, not really." Harry could hardly call it a date, as he wasn't romantically interested in Cho, and there was no use in lying.

"Didn't pique your interest?" Malfoy grinned.

"No. I guess I'm looking for something different."

"Different how?"

There was a glint in the blonde's eye, which Harry wasn't sure if it was a good thing.

Harry shrugged, eyes diverting to the pretty hands in front of him, folded over the other. They would be really great to draw. "Um...not exactly like her?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Different as in...the completely opposite gender?"

If Harry's throat hadn't been dry, he surely would have choked. Malfoy was so straightforward and to the point. Then again, wealthy people were probably used to getting what they wanted so they never had to beat around the bush. Still, Harry wasn't used to it.

He took a sip of water, stalling, looking away from the grey eyes burning into him. Then, he hesitantly said, "I...I'm not sure what you mean."

"You know exactly what I mean, Potter."

Harry wasn't going to get out of the situation easily, he could tell. He gulped, running his palms down his legs. "I'm not...I'm not gay, Mal—I mean, Dra—I..."

Malfoy smirked again before he leaned in close to the shorter, making the latter shrink in his seat, aware of the heat going south— _why there_? Malfoy reached out and gripped his chin lightly, as if afraid that Harry would break at the slightest pressure. He leaned in close enough for Harry to get a whiff of his cologne. It was musky, with a hint of sandalwood and a hint of lemongrass. The closeness, the contact, and the cologne was getting to Harry, causing him to get slightly dizzy. It was all too much for him.

"Ever since I met you at the train station," Malfoy started, voice low, "I wanted to see you again. You were just so...irresistibly cute."

It can't be true. Draco Malfoy was calling Harry cute. _Cute._

"I wanted to call you," he continued, his breath hitting Harry's lips. "But I knew the term had began, and I didn't want to interrupt and distract you."

A surprisingly strong urge to lean forward made its way inside Harry. Just a few inches, and their lips would be touching. They were so close, and Malfoy's whispering wasn't making it any better.

Malfoy hovered in Harry's personal space for a few seconds longer before backing away, removing his hand and taking his scent with him, leaving Harry to almost whimper at the lost. He wanted Malfoy to be close, wanted to hear him dish out his thoughts, smell his expensive cologne. But he remained still, seemingly in a trance.

"Do you have anymore classes?"

Harry mentally shook himself before shaking his head. "No."

"Excellent. I'm walking you home."

Harry was about to protest when Malfoy stood up, fished a couple of bills out his pocket, and tossed them on the table before looking at Harry expectantly.

"I could've paid—" Harry started, teaching for his own wallet, when Malfoy cut him off.

"No, I got it. Now, come on and let's go."

Harry abandoned his half-eaten sandwich and stood. He never thought he would be talking to Malfoy again so soon. He only expected an awkward phone call in the future before going over to see the house designed by his father.

They had began walking when Harry looked back, searching for the girl Malfoy had sat with before he went to harass Harry. But she had disappeared without a word, leaving the two males to walk to Harry's apartment. Light conversation was made, mainly from Draco as Harry was too busy convincing him that the thoughts wildly running through his mind was normal for a platonic relationship. He shouldn't be mentally wondering how Draco does his hair in the morning, or what the name of his cologne was, or if Draco worked out. Malfoy. Not Draco. Draco was too non-professional, too personal.

"That was a smooth trip," Dra—Malfoy grinned, hands behind his back.

"Er—sure."

Harry moved around so he could unlock his apartment, which took a minute because the tall man was standing close to him, making sure the smaller could feel the heat radiate off him. The smaller eventually threw the door open, flinging himself inside clumsily. He looked back at Malfoy, who invited himself in, taking in every inch of his apartment. It probably looked bad to him, as he was so used to having the nicest of everything.

"Uh, it's not the best," Harry lamely said, closing his door behind him. "I'm not as rich as you or anything—"

"I didn't say anything," Malfoy softly interrupted, going up to a picture of a butterfly Harry painted. Harry, who was usually relaxed whenever someone saw his art, slightly tensed. This was Draco Malfoy, who probably had Picasso paintings in his home. Compared to the dead artist, Harry's art were Kindergarten drawings.

The rich boy then strode over to the giant window and took in the view, expression blank. Harry was rooted to the same spot by the door, millions of thoughts going through his mind. He still couldn't believe Draco fucking Malfoy was in his flat.

"Nice view," Malfoy nodded, going to the kitchen.

"It's probably not as nice as yours," Harry hurried to say, turning his body to watch the other's every movement.

"I only see hills. One can only take so much grass."

Malfoy gave a small smirk before he began going through the kitchen, opening the refrigerator, the cabinets, and examining the contents. He even opened the oven and took a look inside. There was an almost approving nod when Malfoy was done with the oven.

"Cook?"

"Y-yeah. I like cooking."

Malfoy went to the sink. "What's your specialty?"

"Baking."

"Hm...cute."

Again, Malfoy called Harry cute. Harry couldn't be that cute, standing there, speaking almost robotically, otherwise awkwardly. He looked useless, not cute.

"I want to cook here," Malfoy concluded.

 _What_? "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Potter. You have a nice kitchen. I wish to cook here, for you."

Why, when his kitchen was probably ten times bigger? Harry wasn't understanding any of Malfoy's actions nor comments. He seemed to like all the less-expensiveness of Harry's home better than his own. Or maybe he was trying to make Harry feel better about not being rich or something. Whatever it was, Harry wanted it to stop. Or did he?

"Why?" His voice came out in a whisper, and Harry cursed himself for it.

A roll of grey eyes fluttered Harry's heart—no, it didn't. "Do I really have to explain everything to you, Potter? Heavens, you're so dense!"

Malfoy walked to him, getting close once again. Seriously, Harry was going to have to trap himself in a giant bubble to get the personal space issue through Malfoy's beautiful head. Malfoy looked down at Harry, grey eyes peering through him softly. It almost melted Harry's heart.

"You'll see."

Malfoy cupped Harry's face for a second, rubbing a thumb directly under his bottom lip before pulling away and walking to the door. He let himself out, sparing Harry one last glance before shutting the door, leaving Harry to control his blush and rapid heartbeat. Because he doesn't like Malfoy other than as a future friend.

The door opened again, and Harry thought it would be Malfoy coming back to torment him again, but it was only Hermione, who looked giddy as she gripped Harry's shoulders. She had obviously seen Malfoy leave his apartment, because she said, "Tell. Me. Everything!"

* * *

 **Okay, so that chapter was A LOT longer than I expected! It was twice the amount I usually write, but I hoped you enjoyed!**


	4. Chapter Four

**Paint me, Potter**

"Mail, Harry!" Hermione announced, entering his flat with the spare key he gave her. She held up a small stack to the boy, who was in the kitchen, cooking breakfast for the two of them. Hermione knew Harry could cook well, so she wasn't worried about him burning the whole building down like she would with Ron.

"Just set it on the counter," Harry said without turning back.

"A package...it's from your Mum."

His mother? What could she possibly send him? Had he forgotten something? There wasn't any holiday coming up.

Harry plated the food and handed one to Hermione before grabbing the sealed package. He carefully opened the mail, not wanting to damage anything inside of it. What was inside wasn't what he imagined.

A small, rectangular canvas was painted with two men, one with short, light brown curls with the other sporting longer, darker hair. He immediately recognized the two has his godfather and uncle, as the two of them were grinning at the other. Maybe his mother did know they were together? Of course she would, she's known them for almost thirty years!

A slip of paper fell to the floor, and when Harry picked it up, he saw that it read,

 _These two say 'hi'. We miss you very much!_

 _\- Mum_

No wonder his mother hasn't answered his calls nor called him. He had begun to think that she was in trouble, or that there was something wrong with her phone. She wanted him to contact her through paintings and letters. After all, she was old-fashioned, and Harry remembered her telling him how she would do the same to his father whenever he was away for big projects.

"What does it say?" Hermione asked.

Harry handed her the painting. "They missed me is all."

The brunette observed the painting while eating her bacon. "Really creative of her. This is really adorable—wait, so does that mean Sirius and Remus really are dating?"

Harry pushes his glasses on his face and nodded. "They are. Well, they're together. They've told me. But," he said, seeing Hermione's mouth open, "it means nothing regarding my current situation."

"He walked out of your flat, Harry! He was in here! You don't just let anybody walk in here!"

"I didn't. I let one of my dad's clients in."

Hermione rolled her eyes, eating quietly for the next few minutes.

Harry felt warm and fuzzy inside from the unexpected gift. He knew he had to go and get more canvases like the one he was given so he could send his mother a painting. But what would he paint? Malfoy was definitely out the question. Perhaps Hermione, but she had classes later that day. Maybe the view he has out the window would be nice. His mother lived in the country, so she never had the view of all the buildings and cars like Harry does now.

"What are you doing for the rest of the day?" Hermione asked, sipping her coffee.

"I'm going to respond to this," Harry started, thinking about what else he could do. "Then I'll look for a job again."

"No luck?"

Harry shook his head.

"Ah. Tell your mother and them I said 'hi'. Well, I'll go shower and do some homework."

It wasn't unusual to hardly see Hermione locked in her apartment, focused on homework. She often finished assignments well before the due dates, and spent the rest of the time reading if she wasn't working at her parents' dentist office.

Harry wished her a good day before he cleaned the kitchen, showered, and left for the day.

—

Harry could not seem to get a break. Whenever there's a chance for something to happen, it happens. All he wanted was a few canvases, maybe a couple of new brushes, and some paints. And he wanted to get them with the least amount of distractions possible. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently so, because Draco fucking Malfoy was strolling around the store, looking at each item with too much fascination. Harry tried glaring at him, but it turned more into a longing gaze when Malfoy looked up at him in mock surprise.

"Potter! You shop here too?"

Harry was not a complete idiot. He knew three things: 1) Malfoy has never stepped inside this store before in his life, 2) Malfoy doesn't even do any type of art, and 3) Malfoy doesn't know what half the things inside were. So, Harry concluded, the rich blondie that girls drool over was stalking him.

"I am an artist," Harry said, instead of pointing out the checklist he had in his head and outing Malfoy. Besides, if he wanted to, he couldn't because his throat suddenly went dry when the taller approached him. Was Harry dehydrated or something, because it was getting ridiculous having to get water every time his mouth did that.

"Right. How could I have forgotten?"

They stood there, Harry speechless, and Malfoy observing him intently. What did he want with Harry? They had no connection, besides his father doing business with his family. But that was hardly a reason to stalk somebody. No, Malfoy wanted something else. He had to. But what did Harry have to offer him?

"Paint me, Potter."

His heart hammered against his rib cage as Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "What?" He dumbly said.

"You heard me. Paint me."

Harry couldn't believe his ears. Were his dreams coming true? His desire was about to become real. He was going to paint this painfully beautiful man and not feel like some sort of creep about it.

"Wh-why?"

But Harry couldn't believe it so much he had to continue to question it.

"Honestly, are you really that thick? I want to test out your artistic skills. And, maybe, even hire you to work at my company."

Somehow, his mouth and throat were relieved of their dry spell, as Harry talked. "Why would I work there? I'm no designer."

"Décor, décor!"

"Is that French?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes before his expression turned into a smirk. "No, but I do know some French, if you want lessons."

The invitation sounded so sexual to Harry, and he had to look away from the man to compose himself. Not that it worked very well, as he could feel the breath of the taller man and smell his alluring scent. For crying out loud, Harry needed to get away from the man before he loses his mind.

"Uh, I'll paint you," he finally said, taking a wobbly step backwards.

"Excellent," Malfoy's mouth curled upwards even more before he stood straight and tall, regaining his posture back, and looking loads more composed than Harry, who looked like he might collapse any second. "Tomorrow at eight is when we start."

"In the morning, right?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow slightly. "Of course, Potter. Unlike you, I have some sense. Now, I'll be wearing a grey suit, and make sure you have a color to match my hair, because I don't want to look old or have banana hair—"

"I'll just mix the colors," Harry quietly said.

"Yeah, do that. And I just want my upper half painted to hang in my mansion when it's done. I might wear a watch. Yes, get some metal coloring too. I'll be sitting by your window as well, and I'll bring food, since you possibly couldn't have anything I'll even remotely like..."

Malfoy went on, and Harry noticed he didn't look as intimidating when he was mouthing off his preferences. In fact, it was kind of hot how bossy he looked and sounded.

"...No, I'll have my painting against a wall. That looks more professional, don't you think, Potter?"

Malfoy finally stopped talking, eyes on Harry, who merely shrugged. He snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Of course you wouldn't know. Why did I even ask?"

"Maybe because I'm painting you. And depending on where you sit, the light could hit you in either a breathtaking or a horrifying way. I'll probably have to move you around to achieve the desired affect I want—"

"You mean what I want?"

Harry gave a short chuckle, seemingly more relaxed with the taller. "No, I mean what I want. You don't know how you look until I show you the finished product."

Malfoy scrunched his nose before giving another eye roll. "Okay, fine. But I'm still doing all those other things I want. Do you have any allergies?"

Harry shook his head.

"Fabulous."

Malfoy reaches in his pocket and pulled out some bills, giving it to Harry, who stared at it.

"What's this for?"

"The art tools, obviously. And get a haircut while you're at it."

Harry ignored the other's insult, and pushed the money back in his hands. "I don't want it. I can buy things myself."

"Then consider this as pay."

"No."

Malfoy took a long look at Harry, no particular expression grazing his features. Harry was about to say something when the rich heir accepted the money back and slid it in his pocket again, eyes still on him.

"Very well, then. See you tomorrow."

Malfoy took in Harry's full body once more before walking away, hand going up to fix his tie.

The green-eyed boy let out a shaky breath he hadn't known he was holding, then went on to finish his shopping.

Draco Malfoy is weird.

That's what he kept telling himself even as he arrived home, thinking over his interaction with Malfoy. The whole...thing he had with Malfoy was just weird. He, Harry Potter, was talking to the rich, and apparently well-known model Draco Malfoy. Harry, a nobody, was being stalked by Draco, a somebody. He was waiting for someone to pop out, saying 'gotcha!', or even Hermione confessing she paid Malfoy loads of money to shake Harry up so he would convince himself that he was gay—even though he's not, right? There had to be some explanation for everything bizarre going on in Harry's life.

Harry was getting worked up over everything, and when he was worked up, he liked to draw, to paint, to knit—which Hermione taught him to do—to do something with his hands. He poured some water in a cup, then brought his newly bought items over and plopped down against the window. Then he set to work painting as much of his living room as he could onto the little rectangle.

It wasn't long before he was finished with most of it, just needing to shade it appropriately, and there was a knock at his door. He was about to tell Hermione come in when he stopped himself, because Hermione would've just used the spare key she was given.

Harry hopped up and looked through the peek hole, sighing in relief before opening the door to his uncle.

"Hi, Remus," Harry said with a small smile.

"Evening, Harry. How's everything?"

"Everything's fine." Harry moved aside to let the taller man through to his home.

Remus looked around, nodding his head in approval. "Very nice, Harry. You have a hand for decorating."

The younger rubbed the back of his neck. "Actually, Hermione did it."

Remus chuckled, taking a peek around the corner at the kitchen. "Leave it to you, and your walls would be filled with paintings after paintings, right?"

It was true; Harry was very indecisive. He would have to pick between two things, eventually getting both as he couldn't choose one without thinking about how he might be at a loss without the other. Harry nodded, then invited Remus to sit on the couch he got.

"Would you like something to drink?" Harry asked.

"No, no, I'm just making a quick stop."

Harry sat down in the couch, beside Remus. "How's everybody back home?"

Remus nodded. "They're doing fine. Your mother keeps coming over, which Sirius and I are always delighted about. Sirius keeps talking about all the hearts you're going to break, which I'm not entirely against, since you are a handsome man and you're trying to figure yourself out. The Weasleys are doing great, with the farm and whatnot. Miss Ginerva, on the other hand, is not taking your absence too good."

Harry chuckled, remembering the crush she had on him. "What's she doing?"

"She asks about you whenever Sirius and I go over there, she talks about you to Miss Lovegood—"

"Lovegood?"

"The girl with almost white hair? Wait, the Lovegoods moved in a few months before you left. Remember meeting her father?"

Harry cringed when he ran into Mr. Lovegood, who was talking about trying to be a nudist for a month or so. Very awkward conversation it was.

"Oh, yeah. Is she anything like her father?"

"Well, she's definitely not walking around nude, that's for sure."

They laughed, Harry painfully realizing he missed hearing that laugh. He missed being around his family more than he thought. He missed visiting the couple whenever his mother was out or busy. He missed painting beside his mum and comparing paintings. He missed playing volleyball with the girls, getting help with studying for finals with Hermione, learning about the Weasley farm with Ron. He missed it all.

He tried to smile as if he wasn't pained by those memories he left behind.

"You should come visit soon," Remus said, lacing his fingers together. "I'm sure everybody would enjoy seeing you."

"It's hardly been two months," Harry pointed out.

Remus shrugged. "So? I'm sure everybody would love to see you so soon."

As much as Harry wanted to take the offer, he shook his head. He knew that if he went back, he would never leave and just drop out of school.

"Sure?"

Harry slowly nodded, smiling slightly. "I wouldn't be able to control myself if I did go back. I probably wouldn't leave."

Remus chuckled, as if in understanding. "Of course. Well, do come visit, will you?"

"I wouldn't dream of staying away, Remus."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment before Remus asked, "Have you found someone lucky?"

Harry hesitated, thinking about Malfoy. He was a somebody, but not in the way Remus was suggesting. No, he wasn't seeing anyone.

"No."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"

It looked and sounded as if he was on to Harry. But about what? Malfoy is just some super rich model who is obviously stalking him. They didn't have anything even remotely close to a relationship. And besides, Harry—Potter—is—not—GAY.

"No, why wouldn't I be?"

It seemed enough for the man, as he backed off the subject.

After a couple more minutes, Harry seen Remus out, and he closed the door behind him, willing himself to not pack his bags and chase after the man. He had to stay strong. For his career and for figuring himself out.

He sighed, then turned to his window, giant and showing the world what he was doing at that very moment. He looked down at the painting he had for his mother, then over to the big blank canvas leaning against the wall, waiting for tomorrow to come so it could be used.

Harry ran a hand through his untidy hair. "Fuck."


End file.
